The Orphan

     The flickering light of the coachman's lantern barely pierced the darkness as Janey clambered down from the carriage. The gusting wind snatched at her hood as she tried to cover up against the driving rain. As the coach rumbled off into the night, she was relieved to see a sliver of light in the dark bulk of the house in front of her.

     “Don’t just stand there on a nasty night like this,” said a voice. “Come in so I can shut the door.”

     Janey was yanked out of the rain by a burly arm. The door slammed behind her. A stocky woman was eyeing her critically. All adults seemed old to Janey, but she saw that this woman was younger and prettier than her drab dress and cap made her seem. Janey shivered and her stomach rumbled.

    “Let’s get those wet things off you. No point you catching pneumonia before you can be of any use,” said the woman. “I am Mrs. Budd, the housekeeper and cook.”

Janey was efficiently stripped of her wet cloak and dress and found herself sitting at the table in her underwear, wrapped in a blanket. Mrs. Budd plonked a bowl of soup in front of her. Janey was so hungry that she forgot her nervousness and attacked the food with vigor. Mrs. Budd hung the wet clothes on the pulley.

     “Don’t they feed you children at the orphanage?” she said. “Everyone that’s come here eats like they’re starved. What’s your name and how old are you?”

       “Janey, ma’am. I don’t rightly know how old I am. I’ve been at the orphanage since I was little. Reckon I’m about fourteen.”

       “Lord knows I need the help,” Mrs. Budd said, ladling more soup into Janey’s bowl and handing her a chunk of bread. “Last girl ran off a month ago, and it’s taken the master this long to arrange for a replacement.”

  “Ma’am, do you know what happened to the last girl? She was my friend Sara from the orphanage. I miss her.”

  “No telling,” said Mrs. Budd, shaking her head. “Just wasn’t here one morning and her things were gone. We never found hide nor hair of her. Probably ran off to town.”

  Mrs. Budd picked up the candlestick and indicated that Janey should follow her. They headed up a narrow, creaking stair to the attic. Mrs. Budd pushed open the first door they came to. Janey saw a single bed, chair, and chest of drawers in the flickering candlelight.

      “What’s the matter?” said Mrs. Budd. “You must be ready to hit the sack.”

      “Ma’am,” said Janey, swallowing back tears. “I’m scared. I’ve heard tales this place is haunted, and I never slept by myself before.”   

      “Nonsense,” said Mrs. Budd. “I’ve never seen ghosts here. I sleep in the next room. Hop into bed now.”

Trembling, Janey obeyed and soon fell into a troubled sleep.

           “Listen well,” said Mrs. Budd next morning. “I attend to the master and mistress. If they do see you, don’t ever speak unless they speak to you first. Not that you’re likely to see much of the master. He doesn't spend much time at home. The mistress isn’t well and mostly stays in her room. You never come in through the front door or use the front stairs unless you’re cleaning them. If you follow the rules, you’ll do well.”

   The big house seemed like a palace at first compared to the brick barracks of the orphanage, but Janey soon noticed that the furnishings were old, the carpets faded, and the paintwork chipped and dingy. The garden looked pretty from a distance, but the flower beds were choked with weeds and the fishpond green and scummy. She and Mrs. Budd were the only indoor servants, unusual for a house of this size. Working from sunrise until late in the evening at least left her too tired to worry about ghosts.

    About a week after her arrival, Janey was curled up under her blanket, trying to block out the night noises of the old house, the creaking of timber, the pattering of mice in the eaves, and the howling of the late October wind. Suddenly she heard light footsteps in the corridor outside her room. They stopped at her door and the doorknob rattled.

     “Don’t be naughty! It’s not time to play hide and seek,” said a soft voice with a giggle. “Come out, darling, and we can play downstairs.”

The door creaked open. A pale face with gleaming eyes peered into the room. Janey muffled a scream, and lay perfectly still, heart pounding in terror. Suddenly the face disappeared, and the door was pulled shut. She could hear Mrs. Budd whispering and the other voice responding, though she could not distinguish what was said. Gradually silence fell again. She lay awake for the rest of the night. At breakfast next morning, Janey gathered her courage and spoke to Mrs. Budd.

     “Ma’am, were you talking to someone last night outside my room?”

     “Who would I be talking to up there? You must have been dreaming. Now, let’s get started. We need to see if the moths got all the woolen blankets before the weather turns cold.”

She glared ferociously at Janey who did not dare say another word.

      The linen closet was a small room below the attics. Janey trudged back and forth presenting musty blankets to Mrs. Budd to inspect. Glancing out of the window, she saw a horse and carriage pull up to the front door.

       “That’s the master. I’d best see what he wants. Sort through these and put the ones that need to be mended on one side.”

She hurried off. Janey continued her work, sneezing at the mixture of camphor and dust befogging the room. Trying to open the window for some fresh air, she froze as she saw Mrs. Budd curtsying to the man descending from the carriage. She recognized him as one of the trustees of the orphanage. The children had been scrubbed and lined up for his inspection from time to time, forbidden to make a noise on pain of a whipping. She understood now why she and the previous maids had been brought from the orphanage. A convenient source of cheap labor. She sighed. She did not believe for a moment that Sara had run off to town. Looking down again, Janey saw with amazement that as soon as the carriage left, Mrs. Budd and the master were clinched in a tight embrace. She slid down out of sight as the pair walked towards the house, Mrs. Budd once again following respectfully behind. She hurriedly returned to folding blankets as Mrs. Budd reappeared, a dreamy, preoccupied look on her face.

Janey was in the kitchen scrubbing pots a few days later, looking through the window at the darkening clouds amassing in the sky, when the bell rang from the mistress’s room. She waited, but there was no sign of Mrs. Budd who had frequently been absent for long periods since the master had arrived. The bell rang again and again. Janey finally went upstairs. She tapped gently on the bedroom door. The same voice she had heard in the attic tremulously asked her to come in. The dark, stuffy room smelled of something sickly sweet.

     “Sara? Mrs. Budd has not come yet to give me my tonic. I dropped the bottle. I must have my tonic. Oh, where is Mrs. Budd? Where is Edward? Why does he not love me anymore?”

The voice broke off into sobbing.

      “I am Janey, Ma’am. Please allow me to open the curtain so I can find the bottle.”

      “If you must,” the voice said. “Hurry.”

The grey autumn light revealed a slight figure in bed. The pale face on the pillow was framed by lank, dark hair. Janey gasped in horror as she saw a sticky, crimson pool on the pale carpet, then sighed with relief as she noticed the spilled medicine bottle beside it.

        “Here is the bottle, ma’am, but I fear it is empty. Do you have another…”

Suddenly Mrs. Budd rushed in, breathless, straightening her cap.

         “Out!” she snapped at Janey as she pulled a bottle out of her apron pocket. “Never fear, m’lady. I have your medicine.”

Janey was made more nervous by Mrs. Budd’s tense silence as they worked in the kitchen later that evening than if Mrs. Budd had yelled at her. Finally, Mrs. Budd fixed her with a piercing stare.

          “Her ladyship had a stillborn baby last year and hasn’t been right since. She sleepwalks sometimes and gets in a terrible state if she doesn’t take her tonic. The doctors have even talked about the asylum, but the master wouldn’t hear of it. He’s such a good, kind man. In her distress, the mistress accuses him of trying to poison her, and having other women and all kinds of fancies. You understand why this is not to be spoken of?”

Janey blinked. The man who had inspected the orphanage children could not be described as good and kind. She took a deep breath and plunged ahead.

         “Poor lady. I just wondered how she knew Sara…”

She broke off as Mrs. Budd smiled menacingly.

          “It would also be better not to speak of Sara. Such troubles arise when people talk carelessly.”

The plate Janey was drying slipped out of her trembling hands and shattered on the stone floor. The drawing room bell rang, diverting Mrs. Budd from an angry tirade. Janey hastily swept the shards up before Mrs. Budd returned, looking angry.

       “The weather means the master cannot leave as planned. He will be here for dinner after all. There is a storm coming. I shall have to cook extra.”

She began slamming utensils and pots around. As if on cue, the rain began beating on the windows, followed by gusts of wind. It reminded Janey of the night she arrived. She finished her work as fast as she could. For once, she was glad of her creepy little attic room. It seemed like a refuge from cruelty, jealousy, passion, madness, and the memory of having to stand for inspection in the orphanage. She dreamed of bereaved mothers wailing as they searched the orphanage for dead babies, finally jerking awake in a cold sweat as she realized that it was not only the wind that she heard shrieking, but a female voice from somewhere below. She jumped out of bed and hurried to the stairs, peering down to the entrance hall. A dark shape lay sprawled on the floor, a spiderweb of red rivulets slowly trickling across the tiles. Eyes wide with fear, she saw an ashen faced Mrs. Budd on the landing, wringing her hands.

       “Edward, no, I didn’t mean it. It was just a little push…you can’t be dead, oh, God, oh God…”

She sank to her knees, sobbing.

Suddenly a slight figure in a billowing white nightgown, appeared on the landing. She was leaning weakly against the wall, but her laughter was clear. Janey and Mrs. Budd stared in disbelief.

        “Mistress,” stammered Mrs. Budd. “I can explain. It was an accident.”

         “Poor Mrs. Budd,” her ladyship said. “Did you really think he cared for you, and did you think I didn’t know? At least I have been spared his loathsome attentions since you were here. It has been exhausting having to feign melancholia for so long though, and I am truly weak from spending so much time in bed. Janey, please come and help me. There is no way to reach the constabulary tonight with this weather. In the morning we will explain there has been a tragic accident. You will leave, Mrs. Budd, and never darken my door again, but I thank you for leaving me a widow.”

          She turned back towards her room, leaning on Janey.

    “Ma’am, where is Sara? Do you know what happened to Sara?” whispered Janey.

Her ladyship smiled.

        “Sara had the misfortune of understanding a little too much about our cozy domestic situation here. My late husband was most put out about it.However, I was able to give her some money and arrange for her to be smuggled out to a safe place. We will try to contact her as soon as possible.”

       Janey felt a weight fall from her and grasped her mistress’s hand in gratitude. The two of them made their way up the stairs without a backward glance at Mrs. Budd.